


why don't u say that into my (hairy) mouth?

by werewolfe



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, i liked the idea for the story but i'm lazy n i suck at writing so its gonna be shit, i still dont know how to tag, if anyone wants to write it better be my guest, it's pathetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 10:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9487499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werewolfe/pseuds/werewolfe
Summary: “Frank, have you been letting the dogs lick the inside of your mouth, again?!” Gerard demanded incredulously.(sorry for the title. n also for the entire thing.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> i’d just like to thank this(https://youtu.be/ipBZEX9nTc8) video for happening upon my life at the time that it did, n my brain for being so completely fucking weird. also my dog. charlie, it is u n ur fur that is to blame here. (i'd like to point out that that i did NOT let my dog lick the inside of my mouth, just for the record).

 

Frank had a talent for being a little shit. He was damn good at getting on people’s nerves. He often used this great power for evil. Gerard had a sneaking suspicion that today Frank was, in fact, doing just that. His knowledge of that didn’t help to calm his temper at all. Frank was currently singing some awful pop song off the radio that Gerard didn’t know by name, straight into his ear. He had been doing so, relentlessly, for over five minutes, not to mention the countless other things he’d been doing to annoy him all morning, and Gerard _could not_  get him to stop. He was tired. Frank knew that. But he wasn’t letting up and Gerard was _this_  close to breaking his _neck_.

“Frank, fuck! Fucking _stop_!” Gerard snapped, shoving Frank away from him, where he caught himself on the arm of the lounge, giggling, like this was all a big, hilarious joke. Gerard glared at him and turned his attention back to his latest art endeavor, a concept Frank _knew_  he’d been mulling over for _weeks_. But no, that didn’t appear to matter to the _asshole_ , who carried on deafening Gerard like nothing had happened.

“I swear to fucking God, I’m gonna punch you. In the face. If you don’t stop. I’m not kidding.” Gerard grit out, holding himself tense and clenching his fist around his favourite pen. If Frank made him break this pen, Gerard would make him pay for it _with his life_.

“Your face is a punch in the face,” Frank snickered back to him. If Gerard didn’t know him as well as he did, he’d ask if he was drunk. He wasn’t drunk, he was _Frank_. He was just more Frank-ish today than usual. He laughed some more and resumed his obnoxious, tone-deaf rendition of the top 40.

Gerard huffed, squeezed his eyes shut, and counted to ten. He only made it to three before Frank pounced. Straight into his lap, kneeing him in the stomach and kicking his sketchbook halfway across the loungeroom in the process.

Gerard threw his pen to safety at the other side of the couch, out of reflex more than anything.

“Right! That’s fucking enough! What is your _problem_  today, Frank?! I’m working! You’re such a fucking _shithead_ , sometimes!” Gerard screamed at him. He didn’t think he’d ever yelled at Frank that loud before, but he was also pretty sure that Frank had never messed with him quite this much before now, either.

Frank flinched, and Gerard spared a second to feel guilty. He took a breath and tried to calm himself down so he could apologize, so they could talk about this rationally, but when he looked at Frank he was fucking _grinning_ , and Gerard felt his anger flare up again to truly murderous proportions.

“Oh yeah?” Frank said, still smiling his fucking ass off. Gerard gave him the pissiest, most rage-fuelled stink-eye he could muster. “Why don’t you say that into my _mouth_?!”

Gerard gaped at him. Frank was beaming proudly to himself. Gerard had seen that stupid fucking interview. It all made sense now, of _course_  Frank had been waiting to use that fucking line on him.

Gerard took the bait. He got all up in his face, stared him straight in the eyes, took a breath, and-

“I said...” He spoke, seething. “You’re such. A _fucking_. Shithead! All the ti-”

Frank didn’t even let Gerard finish, the fucker, just grabbed him, by the _face_ , and shoved his tongue in his mouth. It was unpleasant to begin with, with Frank fucking slobbering all over the place. And, was that _hair_ , in his fucking _mouth_?!

Gerard pulled back abruptly, spitting out a mouthful of saliva and short hairs onto the floor. “Frank, what the _f_ _uck_?” he choked out, coughing. He was pretty sure there was now _fur_  stuck in the back of his throat. _Gross_. Come to think of it, Frank did smell suspiciously dog-like.

Frank himself didn’t look the least bit offended at Gerard’s gagging, clutching his stomach and cackling loudly to himself, hunched over the edge of the sofa.

“Frank, have you been letting the dogs lick the inside of your mouth, again?!” Gerard demanded incredulously.

Frank wheezed a bit, nodding, before laughing even louder. “That’s disgusting!” Gerard exclaimed.

Frank was laughing so hard he could barely come up for air. Gerard thumped him hard on the back a few times to help him breathe, before he remembered that there was literally _dog spit_  in his _mouth_ , and he started gagging again.

“You-” gasp, “Shoulda’ seen-” gasp,”Your _face_!” Frank got out between loud, braying laughs. He had tears running down his cheeks and snot bubbling out of his nostrils, dribbling spit all down his chin and onto his shirt. Gerard narrowed his eyes at him and promptly tickled the shit out of him.

“No! No. No. No. Sto- Stop. No! No,” Frank yelled, ‘no’ seeming to be the only word he could properly get out. He kept repeating it over and over, like an alarm. Gerard didn’t want to _actually_  murder him at this particular moment, and Frank’s state and impaired speech was making it pretty hard for Gerard himself to breathe, so he relented. He’ll yell at him tomorrow, he decided, and they spent the rest of the afternoon slumped deep in-between the couch cushions, cracking up, catching their breath, meeting each others’ eyes and starting up all over again.


End file.
